fcfi 
(Beorge  JSancroft  Duren 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


o/w 


WRITTEN  IN  SAND 

BY 

GEORGE  BANCROFT  DUREN 


NEW  YORK 

TOBIAS  A.  WRIGHT 

1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921 
GEORGE  BANCROFT  DUREN 


TO  MY  MOTHER 


623311 


THANKS  ARE  DUE  TO  THE  EDITORS  OF  THE 
BOSTON  TRANSCRIPT,  NEWARK  EVENING  NEWS, 
NEWARK  SUNDAY  LEDGER  AND  NEWARK  SUNDAY 
CALL  FOR  THEIR  KIND  PERMISSION  TO  REPRINT 
SOME  OF  THE  VERSES  CONTAINED  HEREIN 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTERS 

I         In  the  Mirror  of  Yesterday    .       .  9  to  42 

II  Peace  and  War 43  to  51 

III  Spring  and  Winter     .       .       .       .  53  to  56 


IN  THE  MIRROR  OF  YESTERDAY 


WRITTEN  IN  SAND 

It  was  in  yesteryear 

I  watched  you  trace 

Our  names  upon  the  sand, 

Framing  them  with  a  heart  of  sea-foam  lace 

That  dancing  waves  had  cast  upon  the  strand. 

You  laughed  and  in  your  eyes 

Shone  a  rich  light 

That  dimmed  the  starry  wonder  of  the  skies 

And  warmed  the  night. 

Many  waves  have  washed  that  shore  since  then 
Other  hands  have  formed  the  names  of  men 
Upon  those  gleaming  sands, 
And  each  has  vanished  when  the  sea  rolled  in. 

So  our  names,  too,  are  gone  from  view ! 
Caressing  waves  have  carried  them  away 
Just  as  the  surge  of  time  has  carried  you. 
And  all  that  I  have  left 
Is  like  our  symbol  on  that  faithless  shore : 
A  poignant  memory — and  nothing  more. 


ii 


AN  INCENSE  JAR  AT  DUSK 

A  small  bronze  incense  jar 

With  dragon  face  and  weird  magenta  eyes, 
Brought  from  a  land  afar 

Where  cherry  blossoms  vie  with  cherry  skies. 

The  fragrant  dust  is  lit 

And  like  an  opening  rose  the  flame  awakes 
As  dreamily  I  sit 

To  breathe  the  drowsy  perfume  that  it  makes. 

It  brings  a  poppy  sleep, 

As  on  the  gathering  haze  I  build  my  dream, 
Where  ancient  willows  weep 

And  moonbeams  are  embroidered  on  the  stream. 

Trees  crooning  on  the  hill, 

While  from  the  shadowed  woods  the  answering 

note 
Of  hidden  woodland  rill, 

Chanting  a  love-song  from  its  silvery  throat. 

The  dying  flames  grow  cold, 

And  only  scattered  incense  clouds  remain. 
I  waken  tired  and  old 

To  find  that  I  have  idly  dreamed  again. 


12 


Upon  its  emerald  throne  like  some  proud  queen 
Guarded  by  courtier  pines  in  stately  row, 

The  House  Upon  the  Hill,  with  august  mien, 
Looked  down  upon  the  winding  road  below. 

Strangers  who  trod  the  dusty,  burning  road 
Looked  up  and  stopped  and  to  each  other  said : 

"Great  happiness  must  dwell  in  that  abode. 

There  hope  and  peace  must  surely  make  their  bed. 

"Is  there  no  joy  for  us  of  humble  birth? 

Why  must  we  sow  to  harvest  only  pain?" 
And  lifting  up  their  burdens  from  the  earth 

They  turned  away  and  sought  the  road  again. 

Blind  souls — they  only  saw  the  painted  shell 
Unhappiness  had  built  to  hide  its  lair : 

To  them  it  was  a  place  for  love  to  dwell. 

How    should    they   know    deep    sorrow    lingered 
there? 

What  seemed  to  them  soft  music  of  the  trees 

Was  but  the  wind's  gruff  voice  in  mocking  jeers : 

They  pictured  flowers  nodding  in  the  breeze 

But  could  not  see  their  sad  eyes  dimmed  with 
tears. 

Thus  each  who  passed  looked  up  and  reasoned  so, 
And  wished  that  he  might  dwell  in  such  a  spot, 

Unknowing  that  within  the  dust  below 
He  was  possessor  of  a  happier  lot. 


EAGLE  ROCK  AT  NIGHT 

Night  lay  like  a  black  robe  of  silk 
Tucked  in  about  the  far  earth  rim, 
Stars  that  bedecked  its  endless  folds 
Were  diamonds  from  the  crown  of  Him 
Whose  loving  hands  had  clustered  them 
In  an  eternal  diadem. 

Far  as  the  vision  could  command 
The  warm,  appealing  lights  of  home 
Shone  like  the  soft  reflected  rays 
Of  stars  in  that  majestic  dome. 
They  twinkled  with  a  witching  light, 
Then  vanished  one  by  one  from  sight 
To  join  the  dark  hosts  of  the  night. 

Once  a  laboring  furnace 

Gushed  molten  breath  into  the  sky, 

Its  blood  rays  rose  into  the  drifting  clouds 

Staining  their  saintly  white  with  crimson  dye : 

Rudely  a  whistle  broke  the  tranquil  still 

As,  like  a  winding  phosphorescent  snake, 

A  train  crept  slowly  by. 

A  church  bell  tolled  the  end  of  evensong 
And  one  could  almost  hear  the  sweet-voiced  choir 
Answer  a  soft  amen  to  the  rich  notes 
Reverberating  from  the  ancient  spire. 
'Way  in  the  east  the  lofty  gleaming  lights 
Of  a  great  city  marked  an  unseen  sea : 
Two  steel  shafts  set  with  many  thousand  eyes 
Vied  with  the  beacon  light  of  Liberty. 


O  glorious  night,  I  will  remember  long 
Your  witchery, 

Your  silence  and  the  gift  of  quiet  peace 
You  brought  to  me. 


A  BOOK  OF  MEMORIES 

Of  all  my  treasured  books 

A  dusty,  faded  one  I  love  the  best: 

Its  name  is  Memories 

And  in  its  pages,  only,  I  find  rest. 

Slowly  I  turn  each  leaf 

To  read  again  the  fond  tales  written  there, 

Wander  the  bygone  paths, 

Relight  old  stars  in  midnight's  dusky  hair. 

Its  title  page  is  decked 

With  violets  we  gathered  long  ago, 

While  on  each  aging  sheet 

Are  living  sprigs  of  old-time  mistletoe: 

Fragrance  of  other  springs, 

The  haunting  touch  of  soft,  adoring  hands, 

Moons  that  died  yesterday, 

A  glint  of  Stardust  on  forgotten  sands. 

No  other  book  has  charm 

Enough  to  hold  my  weary  heart-strings  fast, 

For  there  can  be  no  tales 

As  sweet  as  those  love  bound  within  the  past. 


HALLOWE'EN 

From  catacombs  laid  low  in  dust 

Where  green-eyed  spiders  sleep, 

From  marshes  where  gaunt  cat-tails  each 

Their  lonely  vigil  keep, 

From  heart  of  forest,  depth  of  lake, 

Beyond  the  edge  of  light 

Weird  witches  and  their  kindred  folk 

Come  trooping  forth  tonight. 

Down  through  a  royal  arch  of  trees 

In  homage  bending  low, 

Across  a  meadow's  emerald  stretch 

The  gay  paraders  go, 

Until  at  last  in  strange  array 

They  reach  a  field  of  corn, 

There  to  disport  in  phantom  style 

Until  the  birth  of  morn. 

Their  leader  waves  a  magic  wand 
And  like  a  sword  unsheathed, 
The  sere  and  dusty  stalks  of  corn 
With  silver  sheen  are  wreathed : 
And  Stardust  falling  on  the  shocks 
Wraps  them  in  mantle  white : 
They  stand  like  bearded  sentinels 
Against  the  rim  of  night. 

A  tall  pine  with  pretentious  mien 

Begins  a  baton  sway, 

While  martial  notes  of  rustling  leaves 

Announce  the  roundelay: 

As  dancers  rise,  clasp  hands  and  whirl 

Into  the  music's  swell, 

16 


These  ghostly  masqueraders  play 
Beneath  the  fall  moon's  spell. 

And  pumpkins  with  long  slanting  eyes, 

Like  captive  stars  aglow, 

Rise  from  the  dust  and  slowly  wave 

Their  green  arms  to  and  fro. 

So  through  the  night  while  others  sleep 

The  mad  dance  holds  its  sway 

Until  the  first  shy  kiss  of  sun 

Warns  of  the  coming  day. 


A  CHILD'S  PRAYER 

God  make  me  like  the  sun 

To  rise  each  morning  with  a  smiling  face, 

And  as  the  day  goes  by 

Help  me  to  leave  warm  sunbeams  every  place, 

Till  shadows  softly  fall 

And  on  the  wings  of  night  I  drift  away 

Still  radiant  to  think 

That  I  may  wake  with  smiles  the  coming  day. 


THE  SHOWER 

Murmuring,  rustling  through  the  trees 

The  gentle  shower  came, 

Until  it  reached  the  calm  lake  shore 

And  mottled  the  green  that  its  bosom  wore 

With  dancing  drops  of  cool,  fresh  rain 

That  pitter-pattered  a  sweet  refrain: 

With  a  song  in  its  heart  the  shower  came. 

And  a  song  was  in  the  heart  of  me, 
And  a  song  in  the  heart  of  you, 
As  we  nosed  our  boat  in  the  muddy  bank 
And  laughed  as  the  stony  anchor  sank 
— For  I  was  in  love  with  you. 

You  did  not  care  for  the  rain  that  fell, 
For  an  oak  tree  sheltered  our  small  boat  well 
And  the  few  cool  drops  that  wet  your  hair 
Commingled  with  the  fragrance  there. 
One  drop  to  your  lips  in  a  rambling  streak 
I  brushed  away  with  my  own  rough  cheek; 
Brushed  it  away,  but  held  the  place 
Close  to  your  delicate,  warm,  sweet  face. 

And  together  we  sat  while  the  shower  fell, 
Cheek  close  to  cheek — carefree — 
Not  heeding  when  the  storm  went  by 
And  the  sun  beamed  forth  in  a  cloudless  sky, 
So  sweet  was  the  song  in  the  heart  of  you 
And  the  song  in  the  heart  of  me. 


18 


IT  WAS  IN  SPRINGTIME 

It  was  in  springtime : 

Spring  with  its  breath  of  new-born  flowers, 

Dawning  of  our  wondrous  hours 

When  we  clambered  the  rocks  together. 

The  sea  lay  at  our  feet 

Whispering  among  the  shells  and  crevices, 

Or  lifting  now  and  then  a  foam-crowned  head 

Up  from  its  kelp-trimmed  bed 

As  if  to  say: 

"Come — I'll  not  harm  you — come  and  play!" 

And  then  rolled  back  into  its  vast  retreat. 

It  was  the  time  of  roses, 

Roses  that  opened  to  the  smiles  of  morn 

To  dream  amid  sweet  fragrance  through  the  night. 

And,  Oh !  our  hearts  were  light 

As  gulls  we  watched  wing  through  the  sky 

In  tireless  flight. 

Now  spring  is  here  again 
And  the  sea  is  calling: 
"Come  play  with  me, 
Match  your  music  laughter 
With  my  silvery  melody." 

Hark,  the  sea  is  calling! 

But  only  the  echo,  softly  falling, 

Of  another  springtime 

Answers. 


DEATH  OF  SUMMER 

Shadows  are  lengthening  across  the  sky, 
And  trees  have  doffed  their  frocks  of  youthful  green 
For  robes  of  richer  hue,  while  in  between 
The  clustered  stars  an  opal  moon  gleams  high 
Above  the  woods  where  sleeping  violets  lie 
Tucked  in  their  leafy  beds ;  the  winds  are  keen 
With  earthy  smells,  and  everywhere  are  seen 
The  last  gifts  of  a  summer  soon  to  die. 

Death !    Yet  how  unlike  other  ends  this  one. 
With  tenderness  old  summer  decks  each  tree 
In  brightest  raiment,  and  with  fragrant  breath, 
Whispering  softly  that  her  life  is  done, 
She  gently  falls  asleep :  we  hardly  see 
That  she  has  gone,  so  beautiful  her  death. 


20 


THE  RETURNING 

I  wandered  at  the  fall  of  dusk,  alone. 

The  stars  were  dull,  the  moon's  face  hewn  of  stone, 

Gruff  was  the  wind — lost  was  its  melody 

For  you  had  gone  from  me. 

Then  you  came  back.    The  moon  upon  the  road 
Transformed  the  muddy  ruts  to  silvery  bars, 
Lightly  the  wind  awoke  the  leaves  to  song 
And  tears  gleamed  in  the  soft  eyes  of  the  stars. 

So  has  it  been,  so  shall  it  always  be 
When  you,  my  love,  return  again  to  me. 


21 


JUST  DREAMING 

Dearest,  it  is  your  face  that  comes  to  me 

In  those  sweet  moments  when  I  idly  dream 

Of  youth,  and  happiness,  and  things  that  seem 

To  seal  within  them  love's  eternity: 

And  like  the  sound  of  a  soft  melody 

Or  murmuring  echo  of  some  plaintive  stream, 

Whose  silvery  ripples  mate  with  each  moonbeam, 

I  hear  your  voice  so  happy  and  carefree. 

What  an  exquisite  joy  my  heart  would  know 
If  you  might  cease  to  be  a  memory, 
And  come  again  to  bring  my  dreamings  true, 
That  loving  you  I  might  live  ever  so 
Finding  full  happiness  in  serving  thee 
And  worshipping  forever  none  but  you. 


22 


OLD  LOVES 

Deep  within  my  heart  are  sealed 
All  the  things  I  loved  with  you : 
Shattered  hopes  and  songs  half  sung 
And  the  dreams  that  ne'er  came  true. 

As  a  rose  jar  filled  with  blooms 
We  both  gathered  in  the  May, 
So  my  heart  is  fragrant  with 
Petals  of  our  yesterday. 

Tenderly  I  breathe  the  dust 
And  the  perfumed  memories  there 
Fill  me  with  the  strangely  sad 
Peacefulness  that  follows  prayer. 

Things  we  love — each  one  comes  back — 
Breath  of  half  forgotten  springs, 
Songs  of  soaring  birds  that  bore 
Blue  of  Heaven  on  their  wings. 

Stars  that  only  we  could  see, 
Moons  that  smiled  for  us  alone, 
Laughing  winds,  the  wild  brook's  rune, 
Trees  upon  their  mountain  throne. 

Things  we  loved — all  have  passed  by 
Just  as  you  have  gone  from  me, 
Yet  I  keep  them  sweet  and  dear 
In  my  vase  of  memory. 


ST.  FRANCIS  XAVIER'S 

(The    priest    returns    to    find    his 
house  of  worship  a  smoking  ruin.) 

Where  but  so  short  a  while  before  had  stood 

The  modest  church  in  sacred  silentness, 

Now  ruins  with  their  grim  and  blackened  dress 

Bear  the  unhappy  sign  of  widowhood : 

Smoke  circles  from  a  small  charred  cross  of  wood 

While  altar  cloths,  strewn  with  the  carelessness 

Of  entrails  from  the  sacrifice  express 

A  sadness  that  no  other  ruin  could. 

Slowly  the  priest  draws  near  God's  house  of  prayer 

With  eyes  that  tell  what  lips  refuse  to  speak. 

A  curious  crowd  breaks  way  to  let  him  by 

For  in  his  face  has  come  a  great  despair 

As  if  his  hopes  had  turned  as  sere  and  bleak 

As  that  scarred  cross  mute  pointing  towards  the  sky. 


24 


TRIBUTE 
(To  the  memory  of  my  Grandfather) 

Spun  like  a  thread  that  feeds  a  weaver's  loom 

Until  at  last  the  toiler's  task  is  done, 

So  was  his  life  a  splendid  tapestry 

Of  priceless  faith  and  friendship  he  had  won. 


JINNY 
(Eight  years  old) 

Peacefully  in  sleep  she  lay, 
The  still,  bronze  curls  in  disarray 
Fell  'round  her  face  like  the  last  ray 
Of  sunshine  at  the  sleep  of  day. 

Spun  like  a  fan  of  cobweb  lawn 
Her  lashes  tenderly  were  drawn 
Like  guards  before  her  soft  blue  eyes, 
Unfathomed  as  warm  summer  skies. 

In  reverence  I  bent  and  pressed 
My  lips  against  the  hands  at  rest 
As  two  rose  petals  on  her  breast. 

She  stirred  with  sweet  unknowing  grace 
And  soft  curls  wandered  from  their  place 
Hiding  the  glory  of  her  face. 

So  with  a  tenderness  divine 

I  tiptoed  from  my  childhood  shrine. 


26 


PARTING 

Up  from  the  lap  of  the  peaceful  slumbering  ocean, 
Into  the  void  of  a  starless,  all-patient  heaven, 
Turning  the  sea  foam  into  a  silvery  cobweb 
A  soft  moon  wandered. 

Deep  in  the  west,  warming  the  earth  with  a  last 

sweet  smile  of  contentment, 
A  coral  sun  shed  pastel  peace  in  its  setting, 
Gathering  day  to  a  gentle  close  with  its  splendor. 

So  came  the  sorrowful  hour  that  looked  on  our 

parting ; 
And  the  moon  and  the  sun  and  the  sea  and  you 

together 
Were  one  in  the  sadness  of  leaving. 

Then  into  the  arms  ,or  night,  with  a  white  moon 

guiding, 
I  rode  away — leaving  you  standing  alone  in  the 

flickering  daylight: 
You  and  the  setting  sun  and  our  golden  moments. 


27 


SHADOWS  AMONG  THE  SHADOWS 

Noiselessly  our  canoe,  like  an  idle  water  bug, 

Drifted  upon  the  silver-inlaid  waters. 

Before  us  the  mountain  humped  its  back  against  a 

canopy  of  stars 
While  at  its  foot  two  breathing  shadows  listened. 

Then  a  paddle  slipped  from  the  gunwale, 

Waking  night's  silence  as  it  smacked  the  sleeping 

waters : 
And   two   does,   lifting   dripping   mouths    in   timid 

wonder, 
Melted  into  the  mystery  of  the  mountain. 


28 


COBWEBS 

Life  is  like  a  cobweb : 

And  we  the  spiders  toiling  at  the  rapid  looms  of 

time, 
Weave  steadily  life's  tapestry  with  a  rich  thread  of 

years, 
Binding  the  strands  of  passing  days  together  as  we 

climb 
Up  to  the  cobweb's  summit  through  the  sparkling 

dew  of  tears. 

So  with  the  spider  when  October  comes, 
Turning  each  green  leaf  to  a  rattling  husk, 
We  find  the  finished  cobweb  hanging  there 
Deserted  in  the  melancholy  dusk. 

Life  has  its  grim  October,  too, 

And  when  it  calls  we  each  must  leave  behind 

The  cobweb  of  whatever  life  we  spun 

So  those  to  come  may  test  its  mesh  and  find 

Our  character  by  what  the  loom  has  done. 


LOVE  AND  I 

I  have  a  trysting  place  with  love : 

No,  not  where  surging  sea 

Lashes  the  barnacle-covered  crags 

And  whips  the  seaweed  like  wind-tossed  flags 

As  it  strains  to  set  it  free. 

Nor  do  we  meet 

Where  the  candle  stars 

Blink  as  the  clouds  sail  by 

And  the  faithful  moon  from  ivory  hewn 

Hangs  sleeping  in  the  sky. 

But  deep  in  the  sanctum  of  my  heart 
Where  silence  and  peace  find  place : 
There  love  and  I  are  truly  one, 
For  that  is  our  trysting  place. 


STARTLED 

A  rosebud  and  a  violet 
Both  in  a  Grecian  vase 
Were  ardently  a-wooing 
In  modest  flower  ways. 

The  violet  demurely 
Touched  light  the  rosebud's  cheek 
And  nestled  'neath  its  petals 
For  honeyed  lips  to  seek. 

They  kissed — and  quickly  parted 
As  startled  lovers  do, 
For  a  peeping  beam  of  sunlight 
Had  seen  the  kissing  too. 


3' 


MESSAGE  OF  THE  ROSE 

Plucking  the  first  unfolded  rose 
That  bloomed  within  my  garden  close, 
I  kissed  its  petals  wet  with  dew 
And  gave  the  lip-warm  bud  to  you, 
Who,  smelling  it,  seemed  unaware, 
Of  tender  kisses  hidden  there. 

You  did  not  tell  me  that  you  knew 
The  bud  had  brought  my  love  to  you, 
And  yet  the  blush  that  warmed  your  cheek 
Showed  that  the  rose  had  dared  to  speak 
Those  tender  words  that  I,  afraid, 
Upon  its  petal  lips  had  laid. 


THE  PATHS  OF  THE  USED-TO-BE 

The  quaint  old  things  of  yesterday 

Are  but  a  few  short  steps  away: 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  in  a  quiet  vale 

They  are  waiting  to  whisper  some  old-time  tale. 

The  quaint  old  things  of  yesterday 
Still  linger  ere  they  pass  away, 
And  so  we  may  freshen  their  memory 
If  we  follow  the  paths  of  the  used-to-be. 

And  the  paths  of  the  used-to-be  are  these : 
A  roadway  cloistered  'round  with  trees, 
A  homestead,  brown  and  ivy  grown, 
Still  shadow  oaks  that  stand  alone 
Like  sentinels  to  guard  the  way; 
These  are  the  things  of  yesterday. 


33 


A  SONG 

My  heart  is  aflame  with  song, 

Crystal  clear  and  healing  as  organ  notes 

That  creep  through  an  incensed  cloister 

And  out  of  a  sainted  window 

To  life  everlasting. 

My  heart  is  running  riot  with  music, 

Soft  and  as  yet  unborn  to  the  world 

As  the  sound  of  a  mountain  cataract 

Throwing  its  silver  breath 

Like  a  benediction 

Upon  the  upturned,  waiting  lips  of  flowers. 

My  heart  trembles  with  thankfulness 
As  shadow  trees 

Quiver  and  murmur  in  the  arms  of  night 
Like  lovers  embracing. 

My  heart  is  like  a  garden  delicately  fragrant 

Echoing  softly  the  eternal  peace  Chopin, 

Peace  of  music, 

Peace  of  poets, 

Peace  of  understanding. 

My  heart  is  radiant  with  song, 
Sweet  song — song  of  the  Christ  Child, 
And  its  words  are  these : 
"I  love  you." 


34 


SUNSET 

Folding  the  sea  within  a  smile  divine 
The  sun  sank  in  a  maze  of  majesty, 
Brimming  the  ocean  rim  with  Godly  wine. 

Wine  turned  to  amber  on  the  pulsing  deep, 
A  saffron  glow  and  then  a  withered  gray. 
Dark  shadows  fell  and  found  the  sea  asleep. 


35 


IN  THE  DISTANCE 

Peaceful  walks  through  the  tremulous  heart  of  the 

woodland, 

Love  and  hope  in  the  nod  of  each  sun-kissed  flower, 
Time  when  the  smile  on  your  lips  was  my  shrine 

of  devotion ; 
All  in  the  distance. 

Memory  of  days  when  blossoms  of  spring  seemed 

eternal, 
Whispering  hopes  now  lost  in  the  depths  of  the 

forest, 

Only  the  dream  of  your  face  and  an  echo  of  laughter 
Left  to  console  me. 


PEACE  AFTER   PRAYER 

Pale  tapers  on  the  altar,  burning  dim, 

Threw  lonely  shadows  on  a  crucifix 

Of  Him 

Who  suffered  death  to  save  his  fellow  men. 

Kneeling  before  the  candles'  ebbing  glow, 
Whose  amber  rays  fell  ghostly  on  his  face, 
A  form  bent  low 
In  penance  and  in  prayer. 

Gently  the  even  breezes,  southward  bent, 
Crept  up  the  somber  passage  from  the  door 
And  flames  sent 
Lean,  gaunt  shadows  hastening  to  and  fro. 

A  sudden  gust  blew  all  the  tapers  out 

And  darkness  fell  around  the  praying  form, 

While  all  about 

The  fragrance  of  sweet  incense  filled  the  room. 

But  though  all  earthly  light  had  faded  low, 
The  unseen  love  and  light  of  God  was  there, 
For  all  men  know 
The  sad,  sweet  peace  that  follows  after  prayer. 

And  strains  of  music  of  the  long  ago 
Returned  again  to  charm  the  listener's  ear: 
And  kneeling  so 
A  silent  benediction  filled  his  heart. 


37 


YOU  NEVER  KNEW 

You  are  the  sweet  dream  of  a  faded  hour, 
A  happy  hour  too  quickly  sped  away 
When  I  beheld  in  the  fairest  flower 
Of  yesterday. 

And  yet  I  know  the  future  will  deny 
A  dearer  time  than  that  I  spent  with  you 
And  I  am  sad  to  think  you  passed  me  by 
And  never  knew. 


LOVE'S  HOUR 

You  are  the  dream  of  one  immortal  hour 
When  youth  and  love  and  you  and  I  were  one : 
A  time  so  short  I  found  it  passed  forever 
Ere  yet  begun. 

Since  then  night  with  its  host  of  deathless  stars- 
Each  one  a  sacred  memory  to  me — 
Has  held  its  sway  and  every  hour  has  been 
Eternity. 


39 


TO  A  FRIEND 

Life  holds  unnumbered  joys  for  me: 
Freshness  of  water  and  the  warm  smell  of  food, 
Deep  forest  paths  and  twilight  solitude, 
Comfort  of  houses ;  the  ease  of  a  rocking  chair, 
Moonbeams    and    starlight    and    the    breath    of    a 
woman's  hair. 

Cleanness  I  love  and  the  fresh  faint  smell  of  soap, 
Flowers'  scent  and  the  pungent,  deep-voiced  sea, 
The  sun  as  it  sets  in  a  rope  of  heliotrope : 
All  these  bring  peace  and  happiness  to  me. 

Yet  far  above  each  of  these  welcome  things 
I  hold  the  comfort  that  your  friendship  brings. 


SWEET  CONTENTMENT 

Soft  music  and  a  dream  of  you, 
The  perfumed  breath  of  virgin  Spring, 
An  amber  moon  hung  in  the  sky 
And  breezes  gently  whispering. 

These  tokens  of  contentment  known 
But  in  Youth's  transient  age 
Are  like  autumnal  flowers  blown, 
Whose  fragrance  is  their  heritage. 


SONG  OF  THE  LEAVES 

Winter  is  coming. 
How  do  I  know? 
The  scurrying  leaves 
Have  told  me  so. 

They  hadn't  much  time 
To  stop  their  play 
For  they  knew  Jack  Frost 
Was  on  his  way : 

But  as  they  capered 
And  danced  in  glee 
They  whispered  softly 
This  tale  to  me: 

"Oh,  catch  the  sunbeams, 
Store  them  away 
To  warmthen  your  heart 
Each  Winter's  day. 

"Gather  the  incense 
Of  dying  leaves 
To  breathe  when  the  snow 
Hangs  from  the  eaves. 

"And  drink  of  the  wine 
On  South  Wind's  breath, 
For  Winter's  coming 
Brings  Summer's  death." 

Then  they  hastened  by, 
Soft  echoes  fell, 
And  thus  sweet  summer 
Had  said  farewell. 

42 


PEACE  AND  WAR 


ARMISTICE  DAY 

The  world  went  mad  with  joy  that  hallowed  day 
When  Peace,  with  low-bowed  head, 
Trod  slowly  down  the  trenches  where  men  lay, 
Dead  bodies  heaped  on  dead. 

Laughter,   like   some   spring  stream   through   long 

days  held 

Within  its  tomb  of  ice, 

Woke  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  had  beheld 
War's  bitter  sacrifice. 

Shout  after  shout  re-echoed  to  the  clouds, 
Like  children's  voices  through 
An  old  deserted  house  hung  with  gray  shrouds 
Of  dreams  that  were  untrue. 

Peace !    Yet  with  all  our  songs  each  heart  returned 
To  graves  ungarlanded, 

Where  other  men  long  days  before  had  earned 
The  great  peace  of  the  dead. 


45 


BETHLEHEM  STAR 
(Christmas,  1919) 

I  followed  the  star  the  shepherds 

Watched  burn  in  the  ancient  skies 

Till  it  led  beyond  the  earth  rim 

Where  the  flaming  Sun  God  dies, 

Past  fields  where  sacred  blood  had  flowed 

Like  sacrificial  wine, 

The  star  passed  o'er — but  stopped  where  forms 

Stretched  out  in  endless  line. 

Rage  tore  me  as  my  eyes  beheld 
What  wounds  their  bodies  showed, 
And  yet  I  marveled  how  each  face 
With  sweet  compassion  glowed. 

And  as  the  shepherds  old  were  led 
To  the  new-born  Saviour's  side, 
The  Bethlehem  star  had  guided  me 
Where  saviors  of  men  had  died. 


46 


THANKSGIVING  PRAYER 
(To  One  Who  Died  in  France) 

He  dines  today  among  the  hosts 
Of  ever-living  dead ; 
He  feasts  beside  the  throne  of  One 
With  thorns  upon  His  head. 

Yet  though  his  loss  be  hard  to  bear, 
My  heart  is  proud  that  he  is  there, 
And  offers  thanks  in  silent  prayer. 


MEMORIAL  DAY 

We  can  not  lay 

Rose  wreaths  today 

Upon  the  graves  ot  our's  who  lie 

So  silently  beneath  the  sky 

Of  flower-blooming  France. 

We  can  not  kneel, 

Or  prostrate  feel 

That  bitter-sweet  of  still  commune 

With  those  whom  God  hath  called  so  soon 

To  their  deliverance. 

Yet  even  though  we  may  not  place 

A  wreath  above  each  sleeping  face, 

We  shall  not  fail  one  single  cross, 

Symbolic  of  our  sacred  loss : 

Our  prayers,  our  tears  shall  span  the  wave, 

Our  hearts  shall  visit  every  grave. 

47 


Warring  days  have  drifted  by, 
Ships  grow  dim  against  the  sky 
As  the  sailors  are  returning 
To  the  firesides  of  their  yearning. 

But  as  years  turn  men  to  dreaming, 

So  they,  too,  will  see  steel  gleaming, 

Ghostly  ships  loom  in  the  darkness 

Where  the  moonbeams  clothe  their  starkness 

With  a  raiment  silver  spangled, 

Through  the  breathing  waves  entangled : 

Hear  the  clear  voiced  bugles  calling 

And  their  echo  softly  falling 

Where  the  stars  like  tears  of  gladness 

Sparkle  with  a  human  sadness. 

Sailor  lads  are  fast  returning 
To  the  loved  ones  of  their  yearning: 
Yet  within  their  hearts  they'll  be 
Wedded  always  to  the  sea. 


48 


An  autumn  once  in  France  I  knew 
When  flowers  bloomed  and  skies  were  blue 
And  ruddy  peasants  in  the  fields 
Toiled  for  the  spoils  the  rich  earth  yields: 
An  autumn  that  exhaled  sweet  peace, 
Foretold  the  granaries  increase. 

But  when  another  autumn  came 
These  homely  lands  were  not  the  same : 
Brave  hearts  wept  at  the  heathen  scene 
Of  chaos  where  sweet  peace  had  been. 
War's  bludgeon  held  its  temporal  sway, 
Death,  anguish,  rapine  ruled  the  day, 
The  fields  of  rye  were  scorched  and  dead, 
Each  gleaming  scythe  was  dripping  red. 

Two  autumns  now  in  France  I  know. 
One  breathes  of  peace,  the  other  woe, 
And  yet  the  latter  seems  to  be 
More  sacred  in  my  memory. 


49 


LEST  WE  FORGET 
(Easter,  1919) 

Our  hearts  with  fulness  beat  for  Him 
Who  has  returned  from  out  the  grim 
Black  agony  of  Calvary. 

Yet  let  us  not  forget  one  prayer 
For  countless  crosses,  grim  and  bare, 
Mute  guardians  of  martyrs  there 
Upon  another  Calvary. 


OUR  ANSWER 
(In  memory  of  the  Tuscania) 

Bosomed  within  the  sea  off  Ireland's  coast, 
They  lie — our  noble  dead — in  lasting  peace. 
Gladly  without  demur  they  gave  their  lives 
Unto  the  end  that  brutal  wars  shall  cease. 

And  what  shall  be  our  answer  to  the  foe? 

More  men,  more  guns,  more  ships  across  the  sea. 

Theirs  is  the  challenge :  ours  the  solemn  vow 

To  fight  until  the  day  of  victory. 


REMORSELESS  SEA 

Long  days  ago  I  loved  the  sea, 
Its  pungent  breath,  the  mystery 
Of  tales  it  softly  sang  to  me. 

Then  he  was  here  and  days  were  long, 

And  hearts  were  gay  and  friendship  strong, 

For  we  both  loved  the  ocean's  song. 

War  called — the  haunting  waves  had  still 
The  power  and  charm  to  strangely  fill 
My  heart  with  peace  and  hope  at  will. 

But  now  I  hate  that  once  kind  sea 
For  it  has  snatched  my  love  from  me. 
With  cunning  hand,  with  giant  force 
Showing  no  pity — no  remorse — 
It  thundered  wrath  and  with  a  grip 
Of  brutish  love  dragged  down  the  ship : 
Down  to  its  heart  of  black  despair 
And  holds  my  lover  captive  there. 


SPRING  AND  WINTER 


THE  HOKY-POKY  MAN 

Sweet  Spring  is  here — of  that  I'm  sure. 

Yet  not  because  the  first  demure 

Young  daffodil  has  raised  its  head 

From  out  its  green-hedged  flower  bed. 

But  yesterday  I  chanced  to  meet 

Amid  the  chaos  of  the  street 

A  hoky-poky  man  with  cones 

That  brimmed  with  cream  of  peach-pink  tones. 

A  thousand  kids  were  hedged  around 

To  pay  their  cent  and  taste  the  mound 

Of  saccharin  snow — and  then  to  aid 

Digestion  with  the  lemonade 

Within  the  sweaty  jug  of  ice, 

That  summoned  those  who  had  the  price 

Of  one  more  cent  to  carry  down 

The  gutta-percha  cone  of  brown. 

Oh,  blithesome  Spring  is  surely  here 

When  hoky-poky  men  appear. 


55 


SPRING  OUTBURST 

I  just  can't  make  my  pen  behave : 

It  simply  won't  keep  still. 

I  vowed  I'd  write  no  verse  this  Spring 

And  yet  against  my  will 

I  scribble  on  and  on  and  on 

Of  flowers  bright  and  fair — 

I  simply  have  to  write  of  them 

When  Spring  is  in  the  air, 

Oh,  springtime — time  of  song  and  love- 

I  swore  I'd  pass  you  by, 

And  yet  I  have  to  spring  a  verse — 

Just  one  or  else  I'll  die. 


BOLD,  BAD  WINTER 

Winter,  you  are  Bolsheviki, 
Craven,  cowardly  and  sneaky, 
To  come  rushing  from  your  lair, 
Tossing  wild  your  snow-white  hair 
And  to  catch  us  unaware. 

Blushing  Spring  had  made  her  bow, 

Warmed  us  with  her  smile — and  now, 

Out  of  season,  out  of  place, 

You  come  blowing  in  her  face, 

So  that  she — her  form  a-freezing — 

Flees  away  in  fits  of  sneezing. 


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